With every step, the ground beneath my feet turns to sand. The sand spreads out, consuming everything around me. The landscape turns to sand. The incessant rain of Taipei disappears as everything turns to desert. My skin dries, my throat parches as I become part of the landscape.

None of this is real. None of you are real. You turn to sand in my hand. You turn to sand in my mouth. You turn to sand in my mind.

I'm running out of ideas. Running out of future. Ropes that grounded me cut loose. I have to do what? Responsibility what? But in this landscape, there are no shores; there's nothing to do but drown.

At some point in my past this may have been madness, but even madness turns to sand. Even suicide turns to sand. So what is this and how is it different? I can actually enjoy this. I can turn my eyes to the sun directly above, and say, "hey, wow, I must be on the equator". How else is it different? Before it wasn't boring.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 12, 6:21 a.m. - Shots from my apartment window (3).

8:53 a.m.

1:07 p.m. - Apparently I like this skyline detail, I've shot it before.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 7:19 a.m. - Fudekeng cemetery

7:30-7:33 a.m. - Riding down the south side of the mountain from Fudekeng, on the north side of the park with those freaky sculptures I posted last month there is what looks like a Buddhist temple.